by Wayne Purdy
“Heck, he’s a colonel in the Canadian Armed Forces. Are you telling me that he’s also a murderer? A serial killer?”
I thought about this for a moment. “Right now, we don’t have enough to against him to make a case. He’s a suspect, but he’s also a witness.”
“It just doesn’t make sense. Why would he go to the trouble of wrapping her in the blanket? The blanket was stitched together ahead of time. That means premeditation. Whoever did this, planned it. If it was Cutler, why would he remove the penis? Are you thinking it was a hate crime?”
“That’s just it, Zaki. I don’t think it was a hate crime. I believe whoever did this, cared for Grace.”
“You’re fucking kidding me, right? Cutler didn’t care for her. He didn’t even like her.”
“Hear me out. I have a theory. She was wrapped in a blanket that looked like a cocoon on the outside and butterfly wings when it was unwrapped. Her penis was removed to complete the transition. To make her become what she wanted to be. All of Gracie’s other injuries were because of the beatings. Some of the bruises had been there for a long time. They were turning yellow.”
“So, the beatings caused all the bruising, but that was secondary to her killing. Whoever killed her, did it not because of the hazing, but in spite of it?” Zaki asked.
“I think so. Cutler ordered the hazing against Gracie Telford for reasons unknown. Someone else killed her in a ritualised manner. Someone that wanted to help her fully transition from male to female. The two events are coincidental.”
“If Cutler killed her, then why? Is he gay? He doesn’t really seem the type.”
“A colonel in the army isn’t likely to advertise if he’s gay, is he? Especially if he were a closeted, married man. Anyway, if my theory is right, Cutler wouldn’t be gay. He’d identify as a straight man.”
“I don’t follow,” Zaki said.
“It’s difficult to explain. If Cutler believed that Gracie was a woman then he would be straight. There’s more to it though.” I explained Hazel’s visit to Dr. Herron, and the insights that the doctor shared with her.
“I don’t like this,” Zaki said. “It’s bad enough that you’re investigating this. Now you’re subcontracting too?”
“She’s been helpful,” I said, feeling the need to defend her. “It was also Hazel that figured out about the butterfly motive.”
“Can you trust her, Heck? She gives me a bad feeling.”
“Is there something you’re not telling me?” This was the second time he’d brought up Hazel. Was he trying to warn me about her? What did he know?
“I don’t know her. If you trust her, then that’s good enough for me.”
“I do,” I said, but without any enthusiasm.
She killed someone.
Zaki was satisfied and got back to the topic at hand. “This is all still weak. What else have you got?”
“That’s it. I think it’s as far as I can go with Gracie.”
“It’s nothing but a half-baked theory about butterflies and metamorphoses. I can’t do anything with this. It’s speculation and circumstantial.”
“I know. I do have an idea or two.”
There was a long pause. Zaki was not going to like my suggestion. “What?” He asked
“I could investigate Cutler. Do some surveillance. Maybe he trolls for trans hookers at night. He’s been hitting the booze lately. Maybe it’s a sign of a guilty conscience. Maybe he’s trying to drown his sorrow.”
“Absolutely not,” Zaki all but screamed into the receiver. “You are not to go near the man. He’s a decorated war hero. He’s a fucking colonel. You don’t do anything with him until there is actual evidence to back it up.”
No surprise there. Now it was time to play my other card. “Okay. Then I could investigate the other murder. Sandra Mark.”
The line grew quiet again. Then, I heard a long exhale of breath. “I just caught a double homicide. A woman and her three-year-old daughter at a neighbourhood barbeque.”
I heard about that shooting. It was a brazen drive-by in one of the city’s troubled communities. It was all over the news. The police said that it was probably gang related, but of course the shooters missed their actual targets. What was it about gang bangers that made them such terrible shots? Several people were injured, but the worst casualty was the mother and daughter. The mother had died while trying to protect her daughter with her own body. One of the bullets pierced her neck and into the girl’s skull. Both were killed instantly. It was a tragedy, of course, but it was a lucky break for me.
“I heard about that. You drew the short straw?” I asked.
“Lucky me. There’s a ton of pressure on this one. The media are saying we’ve bungled the investigation. The mayor is getting involved. They want arrests made yesterday.”
“Let me guess. No one cares about a tranny hooker anymore.”
“They never really did. Now, I just don’t have the time,” Zaki said.
“Give it to me. Let me do it,”
“You’re not a cop.”
“I can investigate it though. Private investigators are allowed.”
“You’re not a PI either,” Zaki said, as if I needed reminding.
“I’ll let you know as soon as I find anything. I want to nail this guy, Zaki. I owe that much to Gracie. Let me try,” I was painfully close to begging. “Please?”
“Fine. “You can interview witnesses. I will pass on everything we’ve got, crime scene photos and autopsy reports. We don’t have much. It hasn’t been a priority. You cannot arrest anyone. If you get close, you bring me in. Right away. I’m serious about this, Heck. I know you. You’re going to want to see this through, but you can’t. And Cutler is off-limits. You don’t go anywhere near the man. Do we understand each other?”
Elated, I agreed to his conditions. I disconnected the call after swearing that I wouldn’t screw him on this. I wondered if his conditions were ego driven. He wanted in at the end, so he could get credit for the collar. Detectives who closed murder cases were highly valued, and if Zaki closed this one with me doing the leg work, that was a bonus
It was well known that when the new mayor was voted in, he instantly demanded that all city services cut ten percent off their budget. It didn’t matter what department it was; transit, policing, parks and rec, whatever it was, ten percent had to come off. It was a ridiculous demand from a man that had no political background. He’d inherited a business from his father and damn near bankrupted that. Now, he’d moved into public service. He came in on a ‘stop the gravy train’ populist platform that struck a chord with a lot of people. Now people were seeing how those haphazard cuts affected things and were learning that it wasn’t such a good idea to let a businessman run a city.
Cities had to look at more than just the bottom line. Cutting away services might save money but cost lives. The police didn’t have the manpower or resources that it had a year earlier. I couldn’t help but think that Zaki wanted to clear the case, not for his sake, but because his victims deserved it. The city’s cuts had forced him to think outside the box.
It was about an hour later when he sent me the Sandra Mack files. I tried reading it on my computer, but the strain hurt my eye. My printer was low on ink and I didn’t have phot paper. I could have made a run to Walmart and picked up the supplies I needed but it was simpler to send the files to a copy centre. I requested a rush job. My poor Mastercard.
I hoped in my truck and made my way to the copy centre. I switched to the left lane to pass a slow-moving car in the right. It was being driven by a little old woman with blue gray. As I merged back into the right lane, I noticed a navy sedan behind me, following me. Maybe I was paranoid, but I needed to be sure. I pressed down on the accelerator and Macy surged forward with only a bit of protest. The sedan followed. Still not sure if I was being tailed, I slowed to a halt at a green light. The sedan was two cars behind, but the other cars honked and passed me. One of the drivers gave me the one finger salute
.
The sedan hung back, waiting for me to move. That sunk it. I was being tailed. I made a right on the next side street, followed by another right. The car was still behind me. I made one more right, bringing me back to Steeles. I put my hazards on and put the truck into park. I wasn’t going to allow myself to be followed. The direct approach was the best approach. I planned to stop the car and ask the driver why he was following me. The sedan turned the corner and slowed when he saw me standing beside my open door. He gunned it, making a left onto Steeles. The sedan narrowly avoided causing an accident and was met with the squelching of tires and a blast of the horn. I tried to look inside, and get a description of the driver, but the windows were tinted. It was to far away to make out its tags. All I knew was that it was a dark blue, late model Mercedes with tinted windows. Someone was worried enough to keep tabs on me. I would be more alert.
When I got home, I looked at the files from Zaki. It wasn’t very thick. There was the autopsy, most of which I already knew. Sandra had been strangled and the penis removed post-mortem. There was no trace of semen on or in her. No sign of penetrative sex, no anal tearing. No sign of rape. There was semen in her stomach contents, but the sperm had been degraded to the point that DNA couldn’t be extracted. If she was a prostitute, then there was no way of knowing if the sperm was from a john or her killer, or both. The penis was missing. Its whereabouts remained unknown. It was possible that it was kept as a souvenir.
I looked at the crime scene photos. Nothing jumped out at me. The killer was good. There was bruising around her neck, but otherwise she didn’t seem harmed. Her death was quick and painless. I suppose that was a small mercy.
The only people that the police interviewed were Sandra’s parents, and that seemed like it was more of a next of kin notification. There were no working suspects. It wasn’t a good place to start. The police took pictures of the people watching the scene, including a large group congregating outside of the police tape. I searched the photos, looking for Cutler. Murderers often got a thrill out of watching the police trying to solve their murders. I didn’t see him though and wasn’t surprised. If Cutler was the killer, he was way too smart to be caught admiring his handiwork.
There was one photo that caught my eye. It showed an older woman holding a younger trans girl in her arms, comforting her. They both seemed upset. The trans girl was crying. Large mudslides of mascara ran down her cheeks. She wore an obscenely short pair of cut-off jeans and a sparkly halter top. Her blonde hair was pulled back into a practical pony. I didn’t want to judge a book by a cover, but I was reasonably certain that she was a hooker. Perhaps she and Sandra travelled in the same circles.
The older woman was Asian. She was taller and dressed professionally in red blouse and dark slacks. Her face was ashen against her long black hair and she wore an expression of horror. I lingered on her for a moment. Something about this woman was familiar to me. Judging from the reaction of both women, they must have known Sandra Mack personally.
I now had a starting point. I checked my phone for the time. It was only six. My shift at Pandora’s started in two hours. I could go to the gay village and try to find the trans girl, but I didn’t like my odds. Hookers didn’t come out until the veil of darkness had fallen. Their johns were braver when they were less likely to be seen. Prostitution was a nocturnal sport. That meant that I was in for a long night.
I took Puppy outside for a bathroom break. The apartment door creaked loudly as it opened, and I decided it was past time to fix it. I retrieved a can of WD-40 from under the kitchen sink and sprayed a liberal amount onto each hinge. Then I opened and closed the door, revelling in the sudden quiet. I wasn’t particularly handy, but this quick fix had me feeling like a he-man.
Puppy seemed proud too. He jumped onto my lap after is sat down, licking my face and neck. He was getting used to our routine, but I was having problems adjusting. For years, I only had to look after myself. Now, there was another life that depended on me for everything. I was beginning to regret fostering him. Hopefully, Dr. Singal would find a family for him soon. There was a parkette across the street. The little tract of grass was a good place for a bathroom break. A group of kids petted him, and he rolled onto his back, exposing the soft white of his belly.
“What’s your dog’s name?” A little girl asked. She was keeping her distance, unsure of the excited puppy.
“He doesn’t have one yet. I just call him Puppy.”
The girl scrunched her nose. “Puppy? That’s a silly name.”
The children happily rubbed him down. The girl joined in once she determined that Puppy was harmless. Once inside, Puppy fell back to sleep on his bed, a symphony of heavy panting and deep snores. I set the alarm on my phone, stretched out on the couch and closed my eyes. Puppy had the right idea.
◆◆◆
Thursdays were always busy at Pandora’s Box Gentleman’s Club. I took my place near Pervert’s Row, keeping an eye on the girls. Cinnamon and Lexus walked the floor, approaching men, enticing them to accompany them into the VIP lounge for a private lap dance. In some establishments, you could find illicit business dealings, prostitution and drugs, but not at Pandora’s. Regards wouldn’t allow it. He ran a clean establishment, at least as clean as a strip club could be. The VIP lounge was a sectioned off area where men got private one-on-one dances with a girl. They tended to be raunchier, and its where the girls made the most money. It was in this room that the illusion was truly sold. Men would confide in the girls. Proposition them. Confess to them.
Strippers were privy to more secrets than priests. Less skeevy too. I can’t remember any child sex scandals involving exotic dancers. I’m not saying strip clubs are a bastion of morality, because they aren’t. They are rampant with sex, drugs, and organised crime. Hell, unorganised crime too. They are just more transparent about what they are. I can’t tell you how many politicians and celebrities have been removed from Pandora’s because they were acting like children with free rein in a candy store. It was amazing what men thought they could get with because of their notion of what a stripper was, like she was nothing more than a tool for them to use. There was a sort of anonymity to the girls too, because of their stage names. Bad things were more apt to happen when the lights came off.
After the last patron had left, I helped Alice clean up. Alice was a kind woman who made some bad choices in her life. She was a single mom of a couple of teenaged kids. I don’t know her whole story, but I know her old man left one day, just split. He woke up one morning and realised that he was married with children, and he didn’t want that. He wanted to be free. He didn’t want to be tied down to a job he fucking hated. He didn’t want a mortgage. He didn’t want a goddamn mini van. He didn’t want to go to softball games and ballet lessons. He didn’t want to go to parent teacher conferences or neighbourhood barbeques. He didn’t want to wake up beside the same woman everyday for the rest of his life. He’d become the narrator in the Meatloaf song, Paradise by the Dashboard Light. Except that he didn’t have the patience to wait for the end of time. So, he left.
Alice wasn’t bitter, but she was careful to never need a man again. She sacrificed for him. She was pregnant while still in high school, and never got further than that. She sacrificed her potential for him, and it wasn’t enough. Her kids were good kids. She seemed determined to do right by them. I figured she was, just by being there.
“Thanks, Heck,” she said, as I flipped the last stool onto a bleached and scrubbed table. “I do appreciate it.”
“I know.”
“You waiting for Hazel?” She asked with a sly smile.
“What do you mean?”
“You two have been spending a lot of time together, that’s all. I’ve never seen you get involved with one of the girls before.”
“It’s not like that.” I could feel hot crimson rising up my neck.
“Sure. Did you get separate rooms on your trip? I’m not judging, hon. You two look good together.”
&nbs
p; “Hector,” Regard’s smooth voice called. I turned and saw him standing at his office door. “Got a minute?”
“Sure.” I was grateful to be pulled away from the conversation with Alice. “What’s up?”
He stood aside and gestured for me to go inside. I did and he followed. He went to a shelf and pulled down a bottle of Scotch. I recognised the label it was a 21-year-old single malt. The good stuff. The best I ever had was the 12-year-old. He poured a generous two fingers into a glass and handed it to me and then poured another for himself. We both sat, him on the chair behind his desk and me on the plush couch against one wall.
“I’m not a fool,” he said.
“Who said you were?”
“I know what’s been going on.”
“Okay,” I said. I hadn’t been keeping anything from him. I missed a few days work, but considering I never took a vacation, and I always worked extra shifts when needed, I didn’t think he could begrudge me that.
Regards must have sensed my hackles rising. He took a drink from his glass and savoured the whisky. He put his free palm out in a calming gesture. “I’ve been talking to Hazel. I think its great.”
“You think what is great?” Was everyone trying to push me and Hazel into a relationship? I took a drink from my glass. It was like drinking velvet.
“Look, Heck. I own a strip club. To a lot of people that makes me nothing more than a pimp, exploiting all these girls-”
“You’re not taking advantage of anyone,” I said.
“I am. Of course, I am. How many of these girls would be here if they had other choices?”
I paused, thinking. There were a few. Cinnamon, Porsche, maybe. Lexus too. No, not Lexus. She was so young, that something terrible must have happened to her. It was natural for young women to explore their sexuality, but not like this. The line of thought made me sad and uncomfortable. “I see what you mean.”
“I try to help them. You know that. I provide counsellors if they need to talk to anyone. I send them to rehab if they want it. I even loan them tuition money. Interest free. I’m a businessman, but I’m not a monster. I won’t make bank if it hurts someone. I won’t do that. Hazel has been telling me what you two have been up to. What’s in it for you?”